Quiet Dreams
by Erika.Cade
Summary: Based on Felicity's dialogue with Barry in The Flash... "Quiet dreams you keep to yourself." This is my attempt to portray what Felicity might be dreaming about. Sort-of connected oneshots, ranging from fluffy to smutty and everywhere in between. Olicity all the way, because my heart doesn't have enough bumps and bruises already.
1. Sweet Nothing

**{Author's Note}**

So, I was watching the Felicity episode of The Flash – yes, that's the name of the episode as far as I'm concerned – and her bit of dialogue about "Quiet dreams you keep to yourself…" seemed oddly autobiographical. So here I am, with an ongoing collection of stories about what Felicity might be dreaming to herself. Some will be fluffy, some angsty, some smutty… okay, fine. Lots will be smutty. Don't judge me. In any case, let me know what you think by leaving a review. Feel free to leave requests/ideas for future chapters in the reviews too. This first one is SFW, but I made the rating M preemptively, because you and I both know it's going to happen.

The cover art is not mine. It belongs to someone more creative than I – I just added words to the bottom of the picture. You're totally impressed, I know.

I clearly don't own these fools. But can you imagine? I can.

**Quiet Dreams**

**Chapter One:**

"**Sweet Nothing"**

Felicity Smoak was a dreamer.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Felicity Smoak was an IT expert, hacker extraordinaire, and blonde sidekick to Starling City's hero. She was a Cancer, not that she paid any attention to that or read her horoscope in the paper every morning or anything. (She totally did.) She was effervescent and chatty and optimistic nearly to a fault. And under all that, way down near the core of who she was as a human being, she was a dreamer. It was an unfortunate side effect to being a genius in the public school system – she was rarely challenged, not until high school when a techie teacher recognized her potential, and her brain had nothing better to do than to turn thoughts into movies that she could play back as she wished. It was a way to fill the boring gaps in the school day, and then it was a way to fill in the time she spent at home waiting for her mother to get off work – she didn't get a computer until the summer before eighth grade, so before that it was just her and her daydreams.

The habit never really left her. College was hectic, but she still managed to find enough time to live in her head for a while every now and then. When she got hired as a new grad at Queen Consolidated she had even more time. Being an IT girl was mind-numbingly easy for her, so daydreaming at work was a frequent occurrence. She didn't even have to stop working to do it – fix this router, imagine getting a promotion so she didn't have to fix anymore routers. Someone else would come to set up her routers. Set up another firewall for the company's Research and Development branch, picture herself getting contacted by the NSA to help save the country from a cyber-terrorism attack.

Most of her dreams were related to her professional life. Being a particularly gifted MIT grad, running around the building as glorified tech support was somewhat less than fulfilling. She wasn't particularly interested in her own company – being Oliver's executive assistant and seeing what he went through on a daily basis pretty much cured her of ever entertaining that fantasy – but being in charge of a department? An IT department, or maybe R&D? That she could handle. It was easy to imagine herself in a power dress, probably cobalt blue with shiny black heels, ordering interns around and getting her hands dirty in the lab. The NSA would definitely want that version of Felicity Smoak. Who wouldn't?

In the last two years, however… career-related daydreams were few and far between. She had more career than she knew what to do with. She had Ray Palmer and QC during the day, and the Foundry and Team Arrow at night. It was more than enough to keep her from entertaining dreams of NSA recruitment – she wouldn't have time to save the world even if she wanted to. Besides, she was content helping save Starling City. So, instead of dreaming of a new and better office, all of her imagination these days was devoted to deep green leather and a pair of surly blue eyes.

And what blue eyes they were, even if they were connected to a brain so damn obstinate that it made her want to stomp her feet and scream at him. Which she did, at least twice in the last two weeks. Tensions were high these days. To be fair, she gave him nothing to work with. His recent overtures, subtle as they were, had been met with flat looks on her end. It killed her to do it. Part of her cheered that such an emotionally closed-off man was suddenly able to throw around words like "want" and "feel", but the other part of her just shut down. She couldn't hear him talk like that because it ripped her in half to hear how much he obviously still cared about her. And he did. He did care about her, even more than she'd previously realized.

But it was too late.

Oliver had made his choice – he decided that they couldn't be together. He couldn't risk her, and he couldn't let himself give in to what he really wanted because he was still the Arrow. She and Oliver were finished a few seconds after they started, even if she hadn't known it when she'd cocooned herself in red silk and stepped into those golden heels. But she knew it now. The knowledge weighed on her every day, just like she could see it weighing on him. It was too much to ask her to ignore the longing glances and the obvious difficulty he had trying not to touch her. Every time she failed to warm to his guarded romantic gestures, she had to pretend she hadn't seen his face fall. Really, what Oliver accomplished that night in the hospital hallway was a rather ingenious plan to make them both perfectly miserable.

The tension escalated every day. All they could do was snipe at each other anymore, which was always followed by wistful gazes and a deep longing for things to be different. This was who they were now – partners, friends, and now coldly civil coworkers in too much pain to function normally. It had to be fixed, but neither of them knew what it would take. Actually, she did know. Felicity wanted more than anything to rise above this, and to go against Oliver's wishes. To make her own bold decision that could change their lives forever, because it was obvious that this point that their lives needed changing.

Tonight, sitting at her workstation deep within the Foundry, Felicity dreamed that she was brave.

She leaned back in her chair and turned to watch Oliver putting away his gear, muscles playing under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. It was a scene she knew almost as well as she knew her keyboard. His process was the same every night – arrows went into their assigned racks, and the bow was put away in a glass case surrounded by LED lights. It was easy to imagine herself slipping out of her chair and tip-toeing over to him while his back was turned. She took her shoes off hours ago, and he wouldn't hear her bare skin on the tile. She could almost feel the cold under her feet.

In her mind she did just that, giving up the safety of her perch for more treacherous waters. He was distracted, trying to buff out a scrape from the curve of his bow. Knowing she could wind up getting decapitated if he was caught too much by surprise, she stepped up behind him and reached out to place the very tips of her fingers against his spine. The column of bones shifted slightly under her, moving in tandem with his breathing. He could easily have whirled around and backhanded her out of reflex, but some part of him recognized her touch. Or at least she liked to think so. He tensed under her for a few moments before putting the bow away and locking the case. She waited patiently, knowing from the tension in his shoulders that he was expecting the worst from this encounter.

When he did turn, the strong line of his jaw illuminated by warm blue light, he didn't look at her immediately. Oliver's rich blue eyes look at the floor first, noting her bare feet and the bright polish on her toes before traveling up to finally look at her face. It was easy to see that he was braced for something ugly – for more petty arguing, because that was what they did now – but most of the fight had bled out of her. Rather than offering words, Felicity reached forward and took his wrist, trailing her fingertips up his arm. The skin of his forearm was surprisingly smooth and she reveled in the feel of it. Oliver stayed wary, but kept his eyes on her hand and his mouth blessedly shut. She could have stayed here forever, could stay safe within their normal boundaries. They did plenty of arm and shoulder touching on a regular basis. But Felicity didn't want normal, regular, or safe. She wanted him.

Her fingertips left the skin of his arm and slowly moved to his side. She rested her palm against the hard muscle surrounding his ribcage and could feel him suck in a quick breath. It thrilled her. His heat seeped through the fabric of his shirt and melted into her hand, forcing her heartbeat into a strong gallop. Felicity had always nurtured a fascination with his ribs. There was something about them that made her want to trace them with her fingertips, appreciating each one individually. And so she did. With him watching her every move, she followed the contours of muscle and bone like they were a map she needed to commit to memory. His eyes followed her as she learned each dip and valley, each muscle fiber that made him whole. It was the closest to hypnotized she'd ever been.

Oliver cleared his throat.

Felicity raised her eyes, greeted with blown pupils and flushed skin. He was still waiting, watching to see what she was doing. He hadn't decided yet what was going on, or if he should be discouraging it. Or if he wanted to. Both of her hands were gripping his sides, allowing her to stand close. Closer than they'd been since… since then. He let her stay, seeming to lean into her, and for a few moments they breathed the same air. It was several seconds before he felt the need to speak. When he did, his voice was rough and barely more than a whisper – the voice he used only with her.

"Talk to me, Felicity."

It was a plea. Not an obvious one, but a plea nonetheless.

"Will you listen, Oliver?" she asked, holding his gaze.

"Of course."

Her fingers flexed into his sides.

"I miss you." She felt the burn of tears behind her eyelids but she refused to give in. She needed to tell him. "I feel like we are so far apart – all of our common ground has disappeared and I don't know where it went. We fight and get hurt and stop talking and it kills me. I have never felt so far away from you. Ever. And for what? Nothing means anything anymore, Oliver. It's all petty crap because we don't want to really talk about what's going on. Every second of the last few months has been miserable and I just miss you so damn much."

His hands fall on her shoulders.

"I miss you too," he rasped, fixing his heavy stare on her.

The acknowledgment made her stomach flip, and suddenly she realized that there was hope for the two of them. They could fix this.

"So what are we doing to do about it?"

He offered no advice, no suggestion; his stare never wavered. She felt pinned by it, held in place. Despite the intensity in Oliver's expression it was obvious to her that he wasn't going to act first. She could sense it like she could sense most things about him, like the minute changes in his mood and subtle quirking of his lip when she spoke. Still, even though she could feel the tension and readiness to act radiating off him, he held back. For the first time in maybe ever, Oliver was letting her call the shots.

Her life. Her choice.

She fisted his shirt in her hands and pulled him to her, pressing her breasts into the hard wall of his chest. Her lips found his unerringly and his taste exploded into her consciousness like a roman candle going off in a dark room. Their kiss was needy and desperate, bordering on rough, pulling from her a depth of reaction that their first kiss hadn't. The scrape of his stubble against her chin sent shivers down her spine and she gasped, opening her mouth to him. He took the invitation, moving his tongue against hers with a single-minded determination. His fingers sifted through her loose hair and a soft cry left her throat, shared in the air between them. Her heart hammered in her chest and she could feel Oliver's racing pulse under her hands. When he finally pulled back – hands still cradling her face – he swallowed hard and looked at her like she was the only woman on earth and he had a long list of every single thing he wanted to do to her. Felicity was struck.

He was perfect.

So perfect.

And more than that, they were perfect together.

"Don't make me live without you, Oliver Queen," she whispered against his mouth, "Not if this is what living without you is like."

He answered with a brief smile and kissed her again.

* * *

><p>"What did you say?" his voice asked. He was miles away, from it sounded like.<p>

"Hmm?"

"Felicity."

"Mmm."

"You said something."

"No I didn't."

"Are you going home any time soon?"

The question jarred her out of her trance. When she shook herself conscious again, she was still sitting at her workstation, legs crossed under her. She didn't have Oliver pushed against the LED case, her hands wrapped in his shirt. He wasn't kissing her like both their lives depended on it. It wasn't real. The realization made her sad, but almost immediately after that she was just tired. Tired was all she could manage anymore, and also she was pretty terrific at it.

"Yeah," she finally said, reaching for her coat and pulling herself out of the chair. "Yeah, I'm going home."

Oliver cleared his throat. "Can I, uh, walk you out?"

The hopeful look on his face was too much – there was no way she was going to turn him down. She smiled and nodded, waiting patiently while he got his own jacket and headed up the stairs. When he held the door open and looked back at her, a brief smile grazed his features that made him seem years younger and much happier. It was a smile she knew was reserved for her, and the little candle of hope she held for him flared brighter. It felt normal, felt so right, and she let herself smile back at him. For the smallest of moments, she had hope that things really could be okay again.

A girl could dream.


	2. Stay the Night

**{Author's Note}**

Fancy meeting you here… thanks for coming along to the next chapter with me. The response to the first chapter made me very happy, so thank you for your feedback. I hope this story continues to be enjoyable.

So, I wanted to mention that most of my chapters are inspired by certain songs, and those songs become the titles of the chapters. This one is "Stay the Night" by Zedd featuring Hayley Williams. The last one was "Sweet Nothing" by Calvin Harris and Florence Welch. I'll try to let you know the artist for each song/chapter, just in case you're curious. The song may or may not mesh with the tone of whatever it is, but it was what I was listening to while I was writing.

Enough rambling… you might as well call me Erika Smoak. [Actually, please do. Please call me Erika Smoak.]

Look! Smut!

**Chapter Two:**

"**Stay the Night"**

One of Felicity's most popular daydreams involved their date – their first and only – ending differently.

As tense as her days were now – with Oliver and with Ray, after that poorly advised kiss in her office – what she really wanted was happiness. Not the existential kind, where everything was relative and she had to consider the big picture. She wanted the fleeting kind of joy that whooshed through her stomach and made it hard to breathe. She wanted to smile without having to force it. All of her dreams for her and Oliver's date had revolved around them laughing and being themselves.

No explosion, no blood. No horrendous guilt or crippling self-doubt. And most importantly, no heroic attempt on the part of Oliver to sacrifice both their happiness for the good of Starling City. Just them, finishing their conversation and finally getting to take that first step in their relationship. They hadn't even gotten to eat. She realized several days after it was over that their date had lasted only a handful of minutes. Oliver had hardly touched his drink and the waiters hadn't even gotten the chance to take their order. Could that even count as a date? The only thing they had managed to accomplish was the plan to have dinner and the willingness to show up. Which, Felicity readily admitted, was quite an accomplishment considering the nerves they'd carried in with them.

She imagined they'd be happy.

Oliver's confession would still linger between them, obviously. He'd shared a part of himself previously undiscovered and she honored that by listening and doing her best to understand why he'd shared it. It was hard to concentrate, though, when Oliver's speech wound back around to her. His feelings for her. Because he had… feelings. She was the subject of those feelings. And that just baffled her, even though she had a rudimentary understanding that asking someone on a date implied some sort of feelings beforehand. Maybe it was the pills she popped earlier, but she still wasn't convinced she was even sitting with him. Part of her was certain she had fallen asleep on her couch and this was all an anti-anxiety pill-induced haze.

"Do you remember when I told you that because of what we do, I didn't think that I could be with someone that I…" he trailed off for a moment, "… that I could really care about?"

The words brought Isabel Rochev to mind. That snake. She shuddered internally and fidgeted, because that woman was horrible and she represented a very low time in Felicity's life. Complete misery for a few weeks and Oliver's attempt at an explanation – at comforting her – had only made things worse. Not that he knew that, and she was unlikely to tell him any time soon.

She tried to hide her discomfort by throwing out a nonchalant, "Yeah, I remember."

"So maybe I was wrong."

It took a long second for the words to sink in. When they do, it's all she can manage to give him a smile that she's sure stretches from ear to ear. Her heart thrums excitedly in her chest and for a split second, the world is a perfect place. Sunshine and rainbows and perfect, perfect men telling her that they were finally getting their shot at happiness. Together.

"Um, are you… are you saying what I think you're saying?" She swallowed hard. "Because if that's not what you're saying, tell me what you're actually saying because I don't think-"

"Felicity."

He grasped both her hands between them on the table and her eyes flickered up to meet his, the lively blue of his irises dancing in the candlelight. He looked… she didn't know what he looked. The emotion on his face was nebulous but it made her chest constrict anyway.

"I want to do this with you," he said quietly, his voice barely discernible over the white noise of the dining room. "I want to try."

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "Me too."

A look of relief flitted across his face. It made her stupidly happy to imagine that he was invested in her answer.

"I, uh…" she said, laughter bubbling up from the happy place behind her ribs, "I've never been so happy to hear you say you're wrong."

He laughed too.

"Me either."

"I guess there's a first time for everything."

He took a shallow pull from his scotch and said, the timbre of his voice low and achingly deliberate, "I hope we get lots of first times, Felicity."

The syllables of her name rolled off his tongue like they were thick honey and he was tasting each individual one. It made her name sound like something obscene, something whispered in frantic gasps, and she unconsciously clenched her thighs. His gaze was unwavering and she gulped.

Oh, God.

Oh, holy crap.

Did he… could he mean…?

"Can you just say things like that?" she asked seriously and he laughed, breaking only a little bit of the tension. "Because you probably shouldn't. I'm going to spontaneously combust, which would be a shame because I love this dress. I loved it enough to buy it at full price."

"Sorry," he said, but the unrepentant smile on his face suggested otherwise.

Dinner was light and wonderful – a masterpiece of coastal Italian cuisine that made her taste buds hum in delight. She even convinced Oliver to share dessert with her, a fact that she seriously considered adding to her résumé. In two years of friendship she'd never once seen him indulge in something sweet. But while she was clearly enjoying dessert, Oliver was seemingly more affected. He savored it… not just enjoyed. _Experienced. _Felicity's mouth went dry when his eyes shuttered. Watching his lips close around the dark chocolate mousse, running his tongue over the curve of the spoon, was the most provocative thing she'd ever witnessed. She wanted to magically capture it in a GIF and replay it in her head forever and ever. Looking around, she was shocked that every pair of eyes in the restaurant weren't glued to Oliver's mouth.

"I've never seen you eat sugar," she said suddenly, surprising herself. She'd really hoped to avoid commenting on the event because it might call her racing pulse and flushed skin into question.

He smiled easily. The question didn't seem to bother him.

"It wasn't exactly part of my diet for a long time," he said, dipping the spoon back into their shared dish. "I'd forgotten I liked things like this, honestly. It's not something I go out of my way for."

"Yeah, uh," she said lamely with a healthy dose of fake laughter, "Me either."

He grinned.

"So you didn't process your way through a pint of ice cream after I wound up in your car that night?"

She grimaced. Of course he would remember that.

"Your memory is excellent," she commented with a laugh, marveling at his ability to recall offhanded comments from years before. "Maybe it should be not as terrific because I have a habit of blurting out embarrassing things around you."

"I like that," he said, "It's one of my favorite things about you."

A blush crept into her face.

"One of them?" she asked coyly over the lip of her wineglass.

"I have a list."

"Oh, a whole list?" Felicity was flattered by the casual flirtation, the banter bounding between the two of them easily. "Clearly you've been cataloging my many, many virtues to have a list prepared."

He grinned. "It's quite extensive."

"Well, it would almost have to be."

Oliver chuckled and she felt like she was on top of the world.

* * *

><p>They walked out of the restaurant two hours after walking in, both of them high on laughter and very dark chocolate mousse. Oliver had paid discretely, although Felicity had started to make a fuss considering her date was very nearly penniless at the moment. He assured her that he still had a few cents to his name and she acquiesced, because it obviously mattered to Oliver that he be able to do this for her. The valet brought her car around and Oliver shuffled his duffle bag into the other arm so he could open the door for her. She raised her eyebrow at the familiar bag and knew without a doubt that all of his Arrow gear was stashed inside.<p>

She waited until the valet was out of earshot before stepping close and murmuring, "Something tells me you zip-lined your way to the restaurant."

The corner of his lips quirked up in a half smile. "You are not wrong."

"What do you say then, sailor?" she said saucily, dangling her keys in front of him. "Need a ride?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Oliver drove, insisting he would be able to drive with his knees up around his ears. Surprisingly, he managed to fit quite well. His head was still flirting dangerously with the roof of the car but he somehow managed to look just as in control and in charge behind the wheel of a Mini as he did on his motorcycle. The sight of him fitting his too-large body nearly perfectly into her car – and into her life – made her head buzz with white noise born of hope and longing. Could they do this? Every one of her molecules were screaming, _yes! Yes! _

"Let's not go to the foundry yet," she heard herself say, even though she hadn't been actively planning the words.

Oliver turned his head slightly and gave her a questioning look.

"We can go to my place."

That was it. No further explanation or awkward word vomit about not taking advantage of him. For a moment he looked like he might refuse, but seemed to change his mind at the last second.

"Okay," he said easily and her heart sped up.

They parked in front of her townhouse a few minutes later. Felicity climbed out onto the sidewalk and tried not to laugh while Oliver pulled himself from the clutches of the driver's seat. Standing tall, he smoothed out the lines of his light suit and noticed her smirking. He just tilted his chin a little higher and said, "I told you I could do it."

"Never had any doubts," she replied, taking her keys from his hand as he walked around the hood of the car. They walked to her door together, him trailing slightly. She could turn her head slightly to the side and see him surveying their surroundings. _Old habits never really die, _she thinks to herself as the key slides into the lock and turns effortlessly. Her townhouse is clean, she realizes gratefully. No clothes thrown over the back of the loveseat or day-old dishes on the counters. Her shoe caddy was in relative disarray but she felt that could be forgiven. For once, the clean-freak version of herself that existed once or twice a year had done her a favor.

"Coffee?" she asked, laying her keys over an ornate hook on her wall. Her clutch purse found a resting place on her desk as she walked through the living room and into the darkened kitchen.

"Please," he said distractedly, looking around her townhouse. She tried to remember a time when Oliver had been in her house but nothing came to mind. He took in the art hanging above her desk and smiled at the haphazard mess on the surface below it. She left him to explore while she set up the coffee. Within a few seconds it was percolating and her kitchen filled with the best smell ever invented by man.

When she came back to the living room Oliver was standing in front of her television, head tilted slightly to one side as he studied the movie poster on the wall directly opposite him. It was Errol Flynn as Robin Hood and it wasn't hard to see the parallels between the smiling face on the film poster and the man staring at it.

"Robin Hood?" Oliver asked, feeling her behind him.

"Of course," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I seem to have a type."

He turned and arched an eyebrow. "A type?"

"Unlikely, formerly-rich and decidedly noble heroes in green leather," she responded dryly, moving to stand next to him. Even with her heels he was quite a bit taller than her. "Which has proven to be useful time and time again, as they tend to discourage thieves and serial killers very successfully."

He scoffed. "A lot of those around this neighborhood?"

"Some. Don't worry, though," she assured him. "I'll protect you."

He turned his head to look at her with a confusing look pure concentration and her stomach swooped nearly to her knees. The man's eyes were practically lethal weapons and he had no right to yield them with such confidence, knowing full well what it did to mere mortals like her. His reply sounded flippant but it carried an unexpected weight.

"Good thing I have you around."

"That's what I'm always telling you," she teased gently and left him to claim a seat on the couch. She folded a leg under her and watched as Oliver took another turn around the room, getting to know her space. His eyes drifted appreciatively over the deep blue accent walls and his mouth quirked up in a fleeting smile at the bright fuchsia loveseat. It was an impulse buy that she'd come to love – it was a splash of color in her frequently dark life, and it made her smile when she saw it. Even if it was just a piece of furniture. He studied the artwork above her desk for a while, probably trying to figure it out. She admitted the work was odd; a legion of young women in sunglasses staring at you was an unusual choice, even for her. Sometimes she thought it was purchased just because it was somewhat colorful and had happened to fit the space.

Oliver finally worked his way around the room and came back to lurk in front of her. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well?" she said, "What's the verdict?"

"It's very you," he said, looking down at his shoes before lifting his eyes back up to hers. "Perfect."

Damn it if her heart doesn't skip a beat.

"Come sit with me," she says with a smile, patting the seat next to her. "I was thinking earlier how strange it was that you'd never been to my new place. I mean, it's not like we're not together all day every day. I've been to your mansion and down to the Arrow Cave roughly a million times, so it feels a little rude that I've never given you the chance to visit."

He claimed the space next to her and she repositioned to face him, resting her elbow on the back of the cough and propping up her head with her fist. Oliver sat a few inches away, crossing his right leg. He was at a respectable distance but this was Oliver, so not a single thought her head was respectable. She had babbled remarkably little over the course of the night and she was loath to see that ruined.

"It's not a thing," he said, exhaling. "I just assumed you wanted to have your own space, separate from everything else. I respect that."

"Oliver, if I wanted something separate from you I probably wouldn't follow you around from job to job," she said with a laugh. "I'm basically a few creepy collages away from being a stalker."

"Seriously?" he asked, seemingly appalled. "No collages?"

"None whatsoever," she said, staring at him with a spreading sense of warmth in her chest. Oliver was making a joke. With her, on her couch, like two normal people after a first date. Normal people who didn't handle weapons and encrypted federal databases on a regular basis.

She played along.

"Unless you go into the guest bedroom, which you probably shouldn't. You'll find the wallpaper a little disturbing. Although I will admit that the hastily scribbled hearts give the room a whimsical flair."

Oliver tilted his head back and laughed deeply, his voice echoing down her hallway. It was her new favorite sound. A second or two passed before he looked over at her with bright eyes and a contagious smile.

"Felicity," he murmured, reaching his hand up to touch her cheek, "You are my favorite person."

She leaned into his touch and felt the warmth seep into her skin. "Likewise."

The moment Oliver decided to kiss her, it was telegraphed clearly across his face. The mask was down completely and the realization left her slightly shocked. He tilted forward, coming into her space, their breath mingling in the air between them. Not an iota of doubt plagued her mind, for once in probably her entire life, and a quick glance at Oliver through her heavy-lidded eyes showed her an alarming calmness across his features.

Their lips met softly at first, testing each other. It was a first for them and neither was compelled to rush, although her heart rate had clearly not gotten that memo. The pace with which he tasted her was leisurely, reminiscent of the way he ate dessert earlier. He _experienced _her, her lips humming with a pleased groan. He turned into her and brought his hands up to hold her face, capturing her top lip in between his and tugging gently. Her breath caught almost painfully in her chest and she pulled away to fix him with an amazed stare.

"Whoa," she gasped and that damn smile appeared again – his trademark scowl nowhere to be found.

"Yeah," he said softly, eyes sparkling. "Whoa."

"Are you always that, uh… inspired?" she asked breathlessly, unconsciously scooting closer until they were pressed side to side.

Oliver grinned.

"Only with you, apparently," he said.

"Lucky for me, then," she said and kissed him again.

This time soft exploration got thrown out the window and was never seen again. The second time around Oliver meant business.

She surrendered to the violent constriction of her lungs as his tongue found hers, stroking in time with the racing of her pulse. Felicity moaned deep in her throat and felt a low, heavy heat settle between her thighs. It was delicious and possibly the most addictive thing she'd ever felt. Oliver played her like a well-tuned instrument, coaxing sounds out of her she'd never made before, which would have made her blush painfully had she not been beyond the point of caring. It was several long oxygen-deprived minutes before he left her lips and drug his mouth over the line of her jaw and to a soft spot on her neck that made her writhe wantonly against him. She was such a hussy.

"You are dedicated," she said with no small amount of appreciation in her voice. Had breathing always been this difficult? Maybe she had contracted asthma in the last few minutes. Make-out session induced asthma.

"I'm just trying to figure out what you like," he said, and his voice was rough to the point of being near-unrecognizable. There was a healthy dose of honesty in his words and she smiled.

"Don't you worry. When I get there – you know, _there _– I'll just throw my arms up and yell 'Woooo!', like I'm at a football game. It'll be hard to miss."

She reveled in his throaty laugh and felt his hand smooth its way over her waist. Her back arched involuntarily into him.

"Is that where we're going, Felicity?" he asked, pulling back enough to study her expression. "_There_?"

His stare was heavy and contemplative, but she had no idea what he expected to see. He was unlikely to find much other than deep blushing and slightly glassy eyes. Probably a fair dose of adoration. And lust. A whole helluva lot of lust.

"I'll go wherever you lead me, Oliver," she replied, sensing that his question asked a lot more than how they were going to be spending their night. "I always will."

It was apparently the right answer.

He kisses her with a fervor that pulls the breath from her lungs and her heart from her chest. He's fierce and assertive and it makes her knees shake because she's never been kissed like that – ever. Oliver makes her feel like no one else ever has, and maybe like no one else ever will. The _rightness_, the sense of love and belonging she feels with him is a new experience and one that makes her braver than she would ever be on her own.

He makes her better – in every conceivable way.

"Oliver," she says against his lips, intoxicated by the sound of his heavy breathing. His hand is still grasping the curve her hip, his long fingers pushing into the material of her dress. His kiss-swollen mouth is tinged with the deep red of her lipstick and the greedy gleam in his eye makes her shiver in anticipation. He looks… undone. And it's so beautiful.

She waits until he makes eye contact before speaking again.

"Do you want to see how my dress unzips?"

He blinks at the question, processing it, and then swallows hard as she pushes herself up off the couch to stand in front of him. His eyes are almost completely black now, his pupils dilated to overtake the deep blue she loves so much. She turns her back to him, reaching back to pull the heavy curtain of her hair over her shoulder and out of his way. It takes a few seconds but she feels his fingers at the nape of her neck, feeling for the tiny metal zipper. He fumbles for only a moment and then she can feel the metal teeth separating. Air greets her previous unexposed skin and she shivers, feeling bumps raise along her skin as he lowers the zipper down the thin scrap of material that anchors it. She can feel his knuckles dragging sensually down the column of her spine and her breath catches for the millionth time that night.

Before Oliver can find the end of the zipper she steps ahead, removing herself from his grasp. She walks straight forward, head held high, purposefully not looking back. She reaches the window and draws the blinds, blocking the view into her living room from the outside world. Next to the window is a small dial. She turns it slowly to the left, dimming the lights to a brightness more fitting for candlelight that light bulbs. Still refusing to turn, she reaches up to tug one narrow shoulder of her dress down. First one, then the other. With the dress unzipped it was easy to maneuver herself out of it, the delicate fabric whispering to the ground at her feet. A small intake of breath through teeth sounded behind her and she grinned, confidence growing by the second.

She faced him at last, standing still for a second before walking slowly toward him in nothing but her heels and the burnished gold lace of her panties. She always matched her underwear to her shoes, for whatever reason. Maybe it was in preparation for this moment – trying to walk seductively in glittering gold shoes and plain white cotton panties would not have worked out in her favor, but from the look on Oliver's face he wouldn't have cared a damn bit what matched and what didn't. He stared at her like she was the only thing in the world worth his attention. He valiantly tried to keep his eyes on hers, gentleman that he tried to be, but he was only human and his gaze more than occasionally wandered over the rest of her body. His focus was intense enough to feel corporeal; it felt like hands caressing her bare skin. She was wet and aching before the man had even touched her.

Suddenly she was in front of him. His hand came up, trailing light fingertips over the gentle curve of her hip. They smoothed over the lace at her pelvic bone and traveled across the smooth skin at the top of her panties. Her eyes fluttered closed and she took a deep breath, wondering what his touch would do to her when he got more than a couple of fingers on her.

"Everything," he answered in little more than a growl. "I'll do everything to you."

Whoops. Said that out loud.

Not that she didn't like his answer.

"You drive me so crazy."

They were her last words before sinking down to kneel in front of him, her knees on the cold hardwood floor. Her hands found the hard muscles of his thighs, prominent even under his suit. He tensed and flexed under her touch, sucking in a harsh breath. Her hands forged their own path, smoothing over fabric and muscle until she reached the laces of his shoes. She loosened them slowly before sliding off the leather dress shoes, one after another. His socks were pulled off next, thrown unceremoniously to the side. Her fingernails grazed the tender skin of the inside of his ankles and he let out a low groan, his foot twitching away from her questing touch.

Felicity ran her hands up his legs again, priding herself in the tremors rolling over him as she moved. She met his eyes and maintained eye contact, the ache at her core thrumming with life when her fingers moved tantalizingly over the prominent swell at his pubic bone. She didn't miss his eyes slamming shut or the brief moment that he rolled his hips upward. It made her preen, basking in her feminine wiles. Oliver Queen, hero and master of the universe, was reacting that way to her. She was going to have to change her business cards to read Felicity Smoak, seductress extraordinaire.

Her fingers stalked upward still, roaming over the bulk of his abdomen and resting on his collarbones. Taking a liberty she wouldn't have given herself a few short weeks ago, she snuck her fingers under the lapels of his jacket and pushed them back. Oliver let the jacket fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves and letting it rest against the back of the couch. His tie was next to go, the deep blue slipping through her fingers and falling silently to the ground. Soon the pearlescent buttons on his dress shirt gave way, the fabric parting to reveal slabs of hard sinew punctuated with scar tissue and faded ink. Unable to help herself, Felicity placed an open-mouth kiss to the dip of his sternum. She was close enough to hear the rapid staccato of his heart beating under her lips and she smiled, placing another kiss slightly below the first. Then another, and another until her chin met the cool metal of his belt buckle.

The pause lasted only a few seconds; long enough for her eyes to ask a question and for his hand on her shoulder to give her the answer.

His belt went missing first. Gone in the blink of an eye. The button of his pants surrendered and the zipper went willingly. Her hands slipped under the waistband to feel overheated skin and Oliver bucked into her. She used the transference of weight to pull his pants from his hips and slide them down his legs. Felicity barely resisted the urge to toss them across the room once they were free, but she was distracted almost immediately by the naked god resting on her couch. He commanded her attention, making it impossible for her to choose a place to look. She followed the line of every muscle, the jagged edges of every scar, pressed her lips to the inside of the knee Slade Wilson had almost destroyed. Every moment of it was something close to heaven.

She let her lips drag over the skin of his inner thigh, nipping gently at random intervals until Oliver's shakes had become nearly constant. They were nothing compared to how his body clenched once her mouth found the moist head of his cock.

"Ah!" he cried, reaching his hands up and over his shoulders to grip the back of the couch, obviously doing his best to avoid grabbing her head. She wouldn't have minded if he had. She swirled the blade of her tongue around his head and moved lower, her lips just unable to meet the base of his shaft without gagging herself. He tasted warm and earthy on her tongue, the flavor lingering even after she released him from the confines of her mouth to stroke him with her hand. He whimpered, mouth closed and lips pressed tight together so the sound came out as a tortured hum. It was the most acquiescent she'd ever heard him.

There was no time to bask in having him at her mercy. Oliver had let go of the couch and was suddenly pulling her up, bringing him face to face with the flimsy lace covering her center. He tongue found her unerringly, pressing against her clit through the barrier of fabric. She keened and threaded her fingers through his hair and listened to the loud rush of blood in her ears. She murmured nonsense words under her breath, the general tone suggesting that she would give anything to make sure he never stopped what he was doing to her. His mouth pressed insistently against her slick and swollen flesh, rubbing the rough fabric against her already sensitive skin. Then she felt a rough tug that was too quick to be painful and a rush of cool air across her slit.

Oliver had torn her panties off. Literally.

"What if I liked those?" she said with a smirk, although her breathless voice probably gave her actual thoughts away.

"I liked them too," he said lasciviously, "I just like them better in pieces on the floor."

With that he grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his lap to straddle him, knees on either side of his hips as he leaned back to stare at her. His arms spread out to rest along the back of the couch, leaving no part of himself that she couldn't stare at. Spreading her hands across his chest and moving upward and out, firmly grasping the solid rock of his biceps, she couldn't help herself.

"Woo!" she cried loudly, arms flying straight up in the air.

Oliver's head flew back in a loud bark of a laugh and she joined in, immensely happy that they could share a moment of levity in the middle of something like this.

"That's all it took?" he asked with a wide smile, allowing her to take her fill of staring and running her hands over the planes of his chest.

"Oh yeah. I'm easy and you're delicious."

He licked his lips. "So are you."

Oh boy.

Felicity took to running her lips over his neck and collarbone, taking in the unique smell of leather and expensive cologne that she had probably never heard of. She toyed with his pulse point, pressing and shifting with the tip of her tongue. Meanwhile the sound of metal snaps caught her attention, and she turned her head to see Oliver unclasping her shoes and sliding them off. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

"No heels?" she asked skeptically. Didn't men love that?

"No. You," he answered. "Just you."

Smiling, she leaned down to take his lips as her hips ground into his. Pressing up on her knees, she felt Oliver's hardened length skim over her opening. She was more than ready – she could feel her pulse pounding a harsh beat in her clit that made her something close to desperate. She could feel his hand positioning himself, collecting the moisture she'd exuded over the last half-hour of arousal. She trembled, deep shivers creeping up her arms, and rested her forehead against his as she lowered herself down onto him.

In seconds Felicity was filled to capacity, stretching intimately around his girth. Her lungs struggled to pull air in and out, leaving her panting, but she felt really _good_. Like there was nothing in the world but the two of them, connected and inhaling the same air. She was full of Oliver, his harsh breaths ghosting across her neck. Soon being full wasn't enough and she wanted movement. Friction, racing toward the finish line. She circled her hips once and he groaned, whispering a foul curse that made her blood pump harder. Her inner muscles clenched around him.

"Felicity," he said, straining. "Please."

Her hips circled again. He groaned.

"Please what?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

His darkened eyes held hers, letting her know that he was giving up control.

"Take me."

The air in her lungs left in a furious _whoosh, _the words slicing through her, and suddenly she was no longer in control of her actions. Her hands gripped his arms, pinning them in place along the back of the couch, and she pulled herself up and forward to rub her nipples along the granite wall of his chest. She pushed back down onto his shaft and cried out –holy hell, he was big. The thick head rubbing inside her seemed to find the ridges of her pleasure zone without fail, forcing her to writhe against him. Amazing didn't even begin to cover it. This was the best sex she'd ever had and they'd barely started.

Their rhythm set itself.

Rise up, push down, circle.

A steady stream of pleas and endearments left her mouth, mostly incoherent but given in earnest. The walls of her sex clutched him desperately, sending off deep tremors of pleasure with each thrust of her hips. Oliver kept his arms dutifully spread to give her something to hold onto. She used them as leverage to sink herself down on him with enough force to make Oliver gasp and curse, which only spurred her on. He did so without any concept of self-consciousness or need to hide his reactions. Everything he was feeling was on his face, and when Felicity caught his expression the first word that came to mind was _rapture_. He was slack-jawed and thoroughly debauched, watching her with hungry eyes that had a predatory gleam to them.

Seeing it made her falter and lose rhythm. She was so close to orgasm that her body wouldn't let her keep steady, no matter how badly she needed it to.

Oliver sensed it, sensed her frustration, and finally lowered his arms to cover her hips with his massive hands. Her hands rested against his ribs now, enveloping herself in his rough embrace. At first he offered guidance and rhythm, which kept her body thrumming in a sea of pleasure. Her clit rubbed against his pubic bone with each pass and her eyes slammed shut. Within moments he went from guidance to actively thrusting up into her, forcing a loud cry from her throat. She continued to ride of her own volition but when met with the frenzied thrust of Oliver's hips it was too much. It was literally perfect and she didn't last thirty more seconds.

Numbness crept from the soles of her feet and up the insides of her thighs, the muscles clenching in anticipation of climax. Her abdominal muscles contracted and she fell forward to rest her forehead against Oliver's collarbone. Lungs heaving, the spark finally came alive and ripped through her like a wildfire. She came with a gasp and a loud scream, the sound echoing throughout her house. Every muscle in her body contracted in bliss and her fingers dug into her partner's ribs, unable to help herself. When she came back into herself she could hear her voice chanting _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver… _like it was some kind of prayer.

He was still thrusting into her, no longer relying on her moving of her own accord. He moved with an animalistic frenzy, proving he was far beyond the point of trying to be gentle with her. She smiled and placed an open-mouthed kiss to his neck before taking his earlobe between her teeth. She heard his breath catch and whispered in his hear, "Woo."

"Fuck," her lover swore, the hard "k" sound hitting the shell of her ear and making her shudder in sensory overload. "Fuck, Felicity!"

Oliver thrust into her so hard her teeth clacked together, roaring loud enough to have half the neighborhood calling 911. She could feel the searing heat of his release inside her, filling her up in the most deeply satisfying way she could imagine and she gloried in it. She'd gotten Oliver Queen off – spectacularly, if the sweat across his brow and heavy breathing was any indication. His hips continued to jerk into her, his muscles well out of his control by now. It was nearly a minute before he stilled, falling back and bringing her with him. Her head fit perfectly in the juncture between his neck and his chest.

"Oh my God," he said finally, hugging her close.

"Yes to that. Yes to all of that."

"I've never…"

"Me either," she added, tracing her nails across the wide expanse of his chest.

Whatever it was he was about to say, she understood.

Completely.

* * *

><p>At least that's how she thought it would have happened, but that didn't really happen according to plan. Still, it was all she could think about tonight as she peeled herself out of the electric blue dress she'd worn to dinner with Ray. The kiss was a mistake, one that she could feel even before he had said he'd wanted to keep their dinner platonic. Ray was perfect on paper, just like Barry. Intellectual, handsome, kind. Both had an excellent sense of right and wrong, which seemed to be a thing for her. But, just like Barry, there was something missing when the two of them interacted. They should fit together brilliantly, but somewhere between paper and real life things get complicated.<p>

They didn't make her happy.

Oliver did.

Oliver made her over-the-moon, humming under her breath, butterflies in her stomach all the time kind of happy. Something that shouldn't exist for a grown woman acting as the vice president of a massive company, but he made it possible. He was the only one who ever did, and she was starting to realize that he was the only one who ever would.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry, this one was crazy long. It got away from me. I just wanted the two of them to be happy, even if it was just for a little while and even if it was just a daydream. They really need something good to happen to them.**


End file.
